But my grandfather was an alcoholic before he died, and it really affected my mother, who passed down her aversion of alcohol to me.

It’s just…one of those things.

One of my things.

I can’t help the fact that alcohol is a deal breaker for me, and that one word—VODKA—glowing like a headlight on my cell phone, has the hairs on the back of my neck tingling, and not in a good way.

I feel like a buzzkill when I’m the only one drinking an iced tea, or water, or something else that’s not alcoholic, though I know no one is actually judging me for it.

It’s a fact: drunk people absolutely do not give a shit if you’re drunk or not, as long as they are. They’re too busy being drunk to care.

Peer pressure (for the record) has never been my thing. When it comes to hard limits, I won’t let anyone force me into crossing them.

I’m stubborn like that.

My teeth rake across my bottom lip as I deliberate what to say to JB that isn’t snarky, or judgmental, or short. After all, he’s in college and over the age of twenty-one, so what business is it of mine if he imbibes? I just want to know if he’s one of those guys who parties too hard or someone who knows his limits.

JB: I don’t go out very often, in case you’re wondering. We’re really not allowed to.

I let out the pent-up air I was holding in my lungs, a little sigh of relief passing through my lips.

Seriously, is this guy a mind reader?

Me: I’m too busy being lazy to go out very often. My friends and I like hoofing it to the city to hang out—my roommate’s dad is an entertainment lawyer, so he gets tickets for us a lot. It’s pretty awesome.

JB: That does sound awesome. Way more awesome than going out downtown, which now sounds incredibly lame.

Me: It’s nice because I’m not a big partier, and it takes a lot of the pressure off. I mean, I go to parties SOMEtimes, but it’s rare.

JB: We all have our thing. Yours isn’t parties. Mine isn’t hanging out at home. I like to be busy.

Me: Must be easy considering you practice all the time, and have meets and stuff?

JB: Yeah, there isn’t much downtime.

Me: But doesn’t it get old?

He doesn’t respond right away, which surprises me. It’s almost like he’s taking his time and thinking about his answer.

JB: Yes. It gets old.

Me: I’m sensing some hesitation…

He hesitates again, the tiny conversation bubbles appearing then disappearing. Appearing.

JB: It’s not easy to admit that despite having this quote-unquote great life, in reality, it’s kind of fucking dull. No one wants to admit that to someone they’re trying to impress.

He’s trying to impress me?

My heart does a clichéd little leap.

Me: I think my life is pretty basic, if I’m keeping things real. And at the risk of sounding…off-putting? I’m pretty boring, LOLOL

Me: How is that for an endorsement? It just screams DATE ME! DATE ME! doesn’t it?

JB: No more off-putting than me saying I like beer and vodka!!! LOLOL

Me: I mean…you do, right?

JB: Not THAT much! LOL

Me: Okay, well, I binged three different shows this week. Which—now that I’m thinking about it, could be why my grades are sub-par.

JB: I ate twelve tacos for dinner last week.

Me: In one week?

JB: No. For dinner one night.

Me: WHAT??? WHO EATS 12 TACOS

JB: Me?

Me: What kind were they?

JB: Uh, steak. You know, the shredded beef. I skip the cheese and load up on lettuce and tomato.

Me: Ahhh, to make the taco healthier. Good plan **wink**

JB: Are you being sarcastic?

Me: Yes? Not on purpose?

Me: I had pizza for dinner if that makes you feel better, and I’m waiting for my roomie to come home with chips and salsa to wash it all down with. She’s taking forever.

Me: The sooner she gets back, the sooner I can go sit on the couch and OMG you probably think that’s all I do—watch TV. IT’S NOT. I swear I do other things. LOL

JB: Do you jog or run or anything like that?

Me: Actually, yes. I run—mostly walk—a few times a week. I have to or I’ll never fit into my leggings, haha.

JB: Maybe we could run together sometime.

Me: I don’t know if I’d be able to keep up. I’m a light jogger. Mostly I stare at birds and dodge anyone on roller blades.

Me: And stop to pet dogs.

JB: Oh god.

Me: What? Not a dog person?

JB: I am, I just…you stop to pet every dog?

Me: Yeah? You don’t?!

JB: Uh, NO. It would take forever to run a mile!

Me: **grumbles under breath** I know, tell me about it…

Me: They like the bacon I keep in my pockets!

JB: You are killing me.

Me: I’m kidding about the bacon BTW

JB: I figured, but you never know…

Me: LOL that’s true.

I hear the front door of our apartment open and close then the deadbolt being slid into place.

Hannah is back with the snacks.

My mouth waters.

Me: Um. My roommate is back, I’m going to go say hey.

JB: And eat?

Me: Yes, and eat, LOL

JB: Cool.

JB: So…Wednesday?

Me: Sure. Shoot me the details?

JB: Do you want me to text them to you?

What? No way! I like talking to this guy, but he could still end up being a creep in real life.

Me: No, here is fine. Does 7 work for you?

JB: Works for me.

Me: Great.

JB: Do you have a place in mind, or…

Me: No, you choose. I’m pretty easygoing since it’s just drinks.

JB: Do you know where McGuillicudy’s is?

He wants to meet me at an Irish burger bar? One with sticky floors and crappy food? Maybe that was a typo and he wants to meet somewhere else.

Me: That bar on Main?

JB: That’s the one. 7 on Wednesday?

Me: Uh. Sure.

JB: Sweet.

“Skylar, you still here?” Hannah’s knuckles rap on my bedroom door, her knee slowly pushing it open. “Oh good, you’re not in here diddling yourself. I’d hate to walk in on that.”

I roll my eyes and set my cell phone down. “When have I ever done that?”

“You should. Not that I want to see it, I’m just saying—you should.”

“Why are we discussing this?”

My roommate shrugs, a brown paper bag propped on one hip. “I brought you treats.”

“You gonna hang out with me? Friends don’t let friends snack alone.”

“Yeah, I bought myself ice cream, so…”

“What kind?”

“Cookies and cream.”

Gross. That’s my least favorite and she knows it. “Did you buy that so I wouldn’t eat it?”

“Yes.” She laughs.

“You bitch!”

Hannah laughs again, adjusting the weight of the bag. “I’m changing into pajamas. Couch in five.”

“Good, because I have something to tell you,” I say cryptically, wiggling my eyebrows.

I almost never have news to share, and her perfectly manicured brows go up, interested.

“Is that so?”

“Yup. Now go away so I can change, too.”

“I’m going, I’m going…” The door closes behind her and I make short work of removing my jeans and sweater, swapping the outfit out for pajama pants and a baggy Iowa sweatshirt.